


Love Me to Tears

by ALWrites



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: DD/LB Themes, Dacryphilia, Edging, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Married Couple, slight humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 07:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALWrites/pseuds/ALWrites
Summary: Baekhyun likes to cry. Chanyeol gets off on his tears.





	Love Me to Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Self-Prompt
> 
> A big thank you to K! This fic would actually be awful without all the help you gave me!  
> Thank you to the Mods for coming up with this fest! its my kinda fest ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> To everyone else, I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

([Link to AFF version](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1333346/love-me-to-tears-chanbaek))

 

 

To begin, Baekhyun is late for work. His phone wasn’t charging overnight and died come morning, taking his five different alarms and struggling career with it to an untimely grave. Having only half an hour to get ready and make it to the office, a forty-five-minute drive away, is a feat that Baekhyun is sure no one can pull off and shouldn’t be expected to. It makes him feel like crap all the same. No time for a shower, no time for breakfast, a narrowly avoided mental breakdown in the morning rush hour traffic. It is safe to say, that Baekhyun’s Friday doesn’t get off to a great start.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t have a good middle either. From being late, he misses a meeting and several changes to his upcoming project and schedule, meaning that he spends two hours finalising a now useless logo when, apparently, he should have been in a briefing for his team’s new concept. To make back time, he skips his lunch break and proceeds to starve for the rest of the day. His eyes are so dry from the glare of the computer screen that he ends up downing litres upon litres of water to try and ease his irritation, only to end up going to the toilet every thirty minutes instead.

By two O’clock, he has his head in his hands and is about to crack rather prominently down the middle. His team leader just dropped by his office to hand him the team’s brainstorming from this morning in the form of several messy minutes sheets and an even more concerning mood board, then telling him that they need a new logo by Monday morning for their meeting with the client. Even without being late this morning, meeting that deadline is a longshot. It’s near impossible now. 

To end, Baekhyun finds himself working three hours later than usual. He sends a brief text to his husband to inform him he won’t be home for dinner, and then shackles himself to his computer with the internal order that he must finish at least half of the new shitty-looking, uninspired logo by the time he leaves. From his desk, he has to hear everybody saying goodnight to each other, closing down their office spaces and gathering in the elevator at the end of the floor. Ten minutes later, the lights start to blink off in the vacant areas of the building, leaving Baekhyun secluded and feeling even more alone with his workload than he did before; he is the only graphic designer on the team – which, now that he thinks about it, is arguably ridiculous for an advertising agency. It just goes to show that having full creative control can bite you in the ass at times.

It’s eight O’clock when he’s finally emailing his work to himself so he can access it at home later. The prospect of not having a free weekend is tugging at his tear ducts. He’s so tired and fed up that he never wants to come into work again, never wants to open up Photoshop or sit through another droning pitch in his life. Usually, he loves his job. It’s just at times like these when he gets serious ideas about quitting and becoming one with his sofa. With both him and his husband having fairly successful jobs, it’s not like they’d be scrounging around for money if he ever did leave his post. Alas, that’s not entirely the point.

He has worked hard to be where he is now, having slowly climbed the corporate ladder and the toils of bureaucracy over the past five years since he graduated university. To throw it all away after one bad day would be ridiculous, so Baekhyun finds himself both upset at having his job and angry for wanting to leave it.

It’s funny what one insignificant little task can do. If he had just put his phone on charge last night and checked that the socket was on, he could have avoided this entirely. _Stupid._

The only perk about leaving the office abominably late is that he’s missed most of the evening traffic. Roads are mostly clear and there are only queues at junctions and lights, sometimes highway maintenance. The speed limit on the motorway is forgiving in light of his urgency to get home. 

When he finally pulls into his driveway, he has been out of the house for over twelve hours and hasn’t eaten since yesterday. He finds that he doesn’t even have an appetite, but knows that he needs to force something down his throat to keep his impending exhaustion at bay. Perhaps he’ll just have some crackers for now, keep his palette bland. He has a horrible feeling that he might be sick at some point.

Chanyeol is sat at their breakfast bar when he steps through the door, the end of the hallway opening out into their kitchen-diner and then their rear living space. Every morning they share breakfast there, chugging down the bitterest coffee they can handle to make themselves at least half awake. It’s always such a struggle – getting out of bed at the blare of an alarm. Sometimes when he can’t sleep at night, Baekhyun finds himself staring at Chanyeol’s face, mapping out his new fine lines and brushing over the silvering hair at his temples. It makes Baekhyun want to freeze time. To go back and do it all over again.

As soon as the door is locked behind him, he is dumping his bag on the floor and kicking off his shoes, not even stopping to bother with the laces. He wants out of his shirt and tie, out of his stiff work trousers and – most importantly – out of his head. Sometimes, his head is the worst place to be.

There are a few leaflets on the doormat that he reads fleetingly while he unbuttons the top of his shirt, coincidentally finding one for a spa that’s just opened in the retail park not far from here. A lightbulb goes off above his head and Baekhyun toes it towards his bag, lest Chanyeol throw it away thinking it’s just spam.

His feet ache when he walks without his shoes on, though the hallway carpet is rewardingly spongey. Chanyeol makes quick work of noticing him and shoots him a gentle smile, immediately putting what he’s doing aside and closing down the lid of his laptop.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and easy on Baekhyun’s pulsing ears.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, cannot find the strength in himself to verbally communicate. He opts for dropping his elbows onto the counter and burying his face in his hands, trying to keep himself from falling apart. Ever since they moved in together, they have tried to stick to not bringing their work home with them. Doing so would mean they don’t get to spend as much time with each other, which is already very little considering they both work nine-to-five – though Chanyeol is off at the moment to use up his holiday time. Bringing home emotions from work is the bigger issue. Stress, anxiety and misery are all deft poisons to a happy and light atmosphere. If Baekhyun wallows about his shit day when he gets home, it’ll drag Chanyeol down too.

And today _has_ been exceptionally shit, but Baekhyun manages to contain himself just enough.

“Rough day?” Chanyeol asks, eyes following the movement of Baekhyun’s hand when he reaches out to drink from Chanyeol’s glass of water. He doesn’t answer Chanyeol’s question, figures it’s obvious, and decides he would rather not think about it at all. He focuses his upset into clenching his fists against the counter and staring at how white his knuckles are going, not noticing how Chanyeol has stood up and worked his way behind him.

Arms sneak around Baekhyun’s waist and it’s like Chanyeol has reanimated his corpse, breathing life back into him as he takes in a huge gulp of air and leans back into his body. In Chanyeol’s arms he has always felt safe and shielded from the world around him. Chanyeol is strong and sure and confident, exactly what Baekhyun has needed in his life from day one yet been unwillingly bereft of. His touch alone reminds Baekhyun just how much he loves his man, to the ends of the earth and back again, if not the ends of the universe, and it almost brings a tear to his eye.

Chanyeol kisses his neck, innocently at first, and then with a hint of something more. “Want me to make it better?” he whispers into Baekhyun’s throat, breath steamy against his skin and sending a chorus of tremors through his body. Chanyeol is going to help him, going to make it better, and that alone is enough to set off the waterworks. Overwhelmed with relief and feelings of affection, Baekhyun’s eyes begin to well up, and fast.

He has had a horrible day, but returning home to Chanyeol makes his life worth living. He is so thankful, so tired, so _relieved,_ that the tears won’t stop coming, until a sob tears loudly from his throat after an unexpected gasp for air. Chanyeol hushes him, slowly rocking him back and forth as he cries out everything he has. At some point, his cheek is cupped and guided around so that Chanyeol can join their lips, and all Baekhyun can focus on beyond the kiss is how much his heart is pounding and how strange it is that he’s still crying with his eyes closed.

“I thought you might have had a bad day,” Chanyeol utters tenderly as he pushes Baekhyun’s hips back against the counter, trapping him there with his hands and mouth. Baekhyun whimpers unwittingly at the restriction, sniffling through kisses that leave him dazed and dizzy, dehydration beginning to set in along with his hunger and exhaustion.

“I’ve prepared everything for us,” says Chanyeol, drawing unintelligible blubbers from Baekhyun as he tries to express how thankful he is, pawing at Chanyeol’s collar while struggling to keep his eyes open long enough to look at him. There’s a lull in the tears after a few deep, shaky breaths, and just as Baekhyun has his lungs stable again, he’s pitching forwards to suffocate.

Upstairs, warm hands cross his chest and slice effortlessly through the line of buttons joining his shirt. His body loses the strength to stay upright on its own, quivers coursing through his bones and throwing him off his axis. Chanyeol is always there to lean on, though, reliable and solid, and it is in his arms that Baekhyun is bared. The belt around his hips clinks when it hits the floor, followed closely by the whisper of his work trousers. In nought but his boxers, his skin becomes electrified, Chanyeol’s palms like defibrillators shocking everywhere they touch. Thoughts of anything other than the way Chanyeol loves his body with such care and attention are cast from Baekhyun’s mind. The only thing of importance is the sweet pain in his chest and the tears coursing down his cheeks, as endless as his rapture.

The hand cupping his crotch catches him unawares, a sudden breath whistling its way down his swollen throat. Chanyeol fondling and teasing him through his clothes has always been one of his biggest weaknesses. He enjoys being taken apart, inched tediously closer towards the impending edge and strung out so far that sometimes he acquires taste of the impenetrable divine on his tongue. His husband knows all his likes and dislikes off by heart, as though he carries them around in his pocket and takes them out three times a day just to be sure he’s got it right. The unadulterated attention often sends Baekhyun spiralling down the rabbit hole into wonderland.

“Lay down on the bed for me.”

Chanyeol speaks his orders in that scratchy tone, his voice so low that his directions sometimes come from a place more sinister than what lies below. Completely at his mercy whenever in this mental state, Baekhyun doesn’t hesitate to mindlessly obey. If anything, being obedient is his favourite part.

In reality, every part is his favourite part.

Tears blot the baby blue blanket when he crawls into the centre of the mattress. He clings onto it for comfort when he pushes his knees out from under him and sprawls on his stomach, scrunching the fleece in his fists as he rolls into a little ball on his side while waiting for Chanyeol to join him. Without their skin pressed together, vulnerability makes the beacon of innocence in his mind flicker, coating it thick with an ugly tar until the voice convincing him that Chanyeol still loves him has been muted beyond return. Sometimes he falls head first into that dark place. It can be so hard to find the way out again, lost without a thought to guide him. Each visit delivers a nasty brand to the surface of his soul.

Yet it only takes a fleeting touch of Chanyeol’s hand to bring him back. Chanyeol’s lips follow, skipping stepping stones down Baekhyun’s body. Kisses sweep his chest and stomach with invisible ink before they relish his tears. Baekhyun’s tongue slips out to greet Chanyeol’s halfway as his husband’s fingers slip beneath his naked back. Nails like claws sink into the padded flesh of his ass, his body cradled while he moans, so sensitive, when Chanyeol arches away again, toying with his cock until it too begins to weep.

“Cry for me,” Chanyeol whispers lovingly, just before his lips glide over Baekhyun’s head.

The same as Chanyeol knowing what Baekhyun likes, Baekhyun has it scripted in his very being that Chanyeol loves to see him cry. He likes to hear the hopelessness in Baekhyun’s voice, see Baekhyun’s strength and resilience wane under his fingertips and watch as he crumples into a lesser, softer version of himself, all under his hawk-like stare. It fascinates him.

In the end, it’s the putting him back together that Chanyeol enjoys the most, telling him it’s going to be alright and reassuring him to security. Baekhyun launches himself full throttle into all that Chanyeol says, does, and is, until his eyes have smarted and feel as sensitive as the rest of him.

His husband’s mouth on him is hot and wet, sucking strong enough to have him shuddering but too weak to have him letting go – a vexing medium that Chanyeol always tortures him with. Tormenting and exasperating to the point where his tears are no longer tears of relief, but tears of frustration. There is an insistent drumming behind his eyes now, his temples clashed between golden cymbals while his throat cramps at every swallow. Saying Chanyeol’s name doesn’t help his case either, but his husband always gives his stomach a warm pat to let him know that he’s not being ignored. That he’s not being used. It doesn’t calm his tears, but his brands do not sizzle from the ghost waiting in the darkness.

He knows he’s being marked, as though someone has thrown rose petals into the air and let them scatter across his skin. The pebbled verge of his nipples soon becomes blurred, Chanyeol’s tongue laving at them until they grow pink and swollen, bordering on sore. Baekhyun squirms beneath him, never really trying to get away. He has an endless love affair with overstimulation.

Chanyeol leans back to blow cool air against where his spit has soaked – Baekhyun convulses. He gasps, light and airy, and sniffles when he closes his eyes and feels two tears slipping back into his hairline, dampening the pillow beneath his head. With eyes red and puffy, he gazes at Chanyeol in complete surrender. Chanyeol doesn’t look back, slurping wantonly at Baekhyun’s nipples again so forcefully that Baekhyun tries to squeeze his thighs together to stop himself from getting near. Whines leak from his broken throat, voicing all he feels on behalf of his misplaced words. His grip rips into Chanyeol’s shoulders at one hard suck and he shudders in alarm. It’s almost too much. Only almost. Chanyeol always knows when it is best to stop.

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol asks when he’s hovering over Baekhyun’s face again, breath tainted albeit bearable. The tension falls from Baekhyun’s form in an instant, like ice melting under the sun, and his tears dry up for a moment or two while Chanyeol caresses his face. If Baekhyun had not seen it a thousand times before, become accustomed to its intensity, the adoration he sees in Chanyeol’s eyes might be enough to choke him without any means. His lover has always had a knack for giving him everything without expecting anything in return, though Baekhyun is just as crazy, if not more, about him than he is.

Baekhyun nods in response, faint and slow. His cheeks feel dry and his nose is a little runny, and although he probably looks like a complete mess, Chanyeol still looks at him like he has the same body he did when he was seventeen. Back then, he had a toned stomach, impressive biceps – even his thighs were hard to the touch. Now, he’s more on the squishy side. There’s a sizable layer of fat coating his bones and hiding his muscles, but he never feels ugly. Not when Chanyeol worships his body at least three nights a week like it’s the first time all over again. Not when he flirts with him so shamelessly in public.

He’s being handed a bottle of water next, the plastic pressed against his lips as Chanyeol lets him drink. Unsurprisingly, crying is thirsty work. The darkness would grab at his dehydration if either of them let it. He gulps down half, then proceeds to take small, distracted sips while Chanyeol entertains himself with marking his throat. A bead of water slips from the side of his mouth at one point, freezing compared to the steaming heat of his skin, and Chanyeol’s searing tongue chases after it as though it were a tear. His eyes sting when he blinks.

The bottle of water leaves his hazy sight, Chanyeol putting it on the bedside table for later. A bottle of lube is its replacement, a sceptre of power that crosses ceremoniously from one hand to another. From Chanyeol to Baekhyun.

“It’s all ready for you,” Chanyeol promises as they steadily switch places, Chanyeol’s arms guiding a shaky Baekhyun onto his knees between his slim thighs. The blue blanket presses reassuringly against his skin, and Baekhyun finally gets a good look at his husband now that he’s laid out before him, a banquet of all he believed to be forbidden. To his inward delight, Chanyeol’s stomach is a little rounder than usual, and he cannot restrain himself from running a lazy hand up his husband’s torso just to feel his skin and the cushion beneath it. On the way back down to Chanyeol’s hips, he furls his fingernails in so he can ogle at the red lines that bubble on the surface. The two of them are definitely not as clean shaven as they used to be, nor are they as tight, but there’s something special about watching Chanyeol’s body maturing through the years, a heart-tingling reminder that they chose to grow old with each other and no one else. That thought enough spurs a wrath of emotions to gather behind his eyelids.

A sharp click punctures the heady quiet when Baekhyun opens the sleek bottle in his hand. Just above his line of sight, he is blessed with the view of Chanyeol drawing his thighs back and revealing the small black disc embedded between. Baekhyun knows that plug. It’s the largest one they have. The longest. Chanyeol really did prepare everything for him over only an inkling that he’d had a bad day. That tips him over, and the darkness feels so far away.

His fingers glisten in the low lamplight after Baekhyun tenses his opposing hand, dropping the bottle without a glance as he stares, enraptured, at the disk which has usurped his place. Taut, red skin twitches beneath his touch, the very tips of his fingers circling the plug, threatening it for taking what’s his. Chanyeol hisses somewhere ahead of him when his fingers delve down to reach the underside of the silicone. Then, he eases his arm back by the elbow, never tearing his eyes away from the sight of Chanyeol’s ass traitorously clinging to artificiality, before gaping. He is remarkably stretched. Bruised and tender, Chanyeol shimmers just like Baekhyun’s tears.

His husband’s lips part to breathe an abundance of praises, naming him sweetly and calling him ‘baby’ whenever he reaches out to feel his emotions. The phrase ‘it’s going to be okay’ recurs like the sunrise, spreading warmth across the plains of Baekhyun’s chest and back while goosebumps seize his shivering flesh. His fingertips creep inside Chanyeol just slightly, soaking up his heat while he arouses the nerve endings at their final destination. Chanyeol flinches and snaps tight for a second, groaning with the rumble of an engine as Baekhyun faintly traces circles onto his discoloured skin.

Baekhyun waits for permission before he aligns himself and presses forwards into the embrace of Chanyeol’s body. To thank Chanyeol for looking after him, he cries through bruised eyes, waves churning in his head. His husband nods slightly, and Baekhyun wastes no time in swinging his hips, gyrating as he waits for a pinch at his side. Soon enough, it comes, and he starts to pound into Chanyeol’s ass with abandon. He can’t wait any longer. A twelve-hour day was long enough. But Chanyeol wraps his hands around his wrists and orders him to stop.

Then, “Go slow.”

Baekhyun almost punches Chanyeol’s chest, fists trembling in front of him before he heeds to his wishes, reluctant. To show his displeasure at Chanyeol controlling his entire body, forbidding him from fucking to an end he desperately needs, Baekhyun crumples against his chest. He goes slow, by Chanyeol’s orders, clinging to his shoulders and shaking his head, as if trying to burrow his face into Chanyeol’s chest to hide from the embarrassment of being made to wait, to last longer than he can. The fear of disappointing Chanyeol manifests into a fear of coming, of not doing as he’s told, and it proves to scare the approaching release right out of his cock, if only for the little while that his mind is distracted.

“Please,” he mouths into Chanyeol’s skin, a mixture of tears and spit slicking the surface of his wallowing. “Please, Chanyeol.”

“I told you to go slow.”

Baekhyun whines, back curling upwards like a bow with every gruelling forward thrust. He hovers over Chanyeol’s collarbone where he clamps his teeth down, biting fiercely every time he gets that little bit too close. Not a great solution, when each time Chanyeol groans, it makes Baekhyun’s whole body buckle from nothing other than aural stimulation.

Chanyeol’s eyes drink in the state of him. Leisurely, he pumps his cock at the sight of Baekhyun breaking. The latter sits up again, fucking impatiently, and knows that Chanyeol is not looking him directly in the eyes but at his tears as they slide down his cheeks. He can taste the cool salt of them in his mouth whenever they diverge into the seal of his lips, catching in the corner, and he licks them up just to have Chanyeol’s eyes on his tongue. He teases, he knows it’s wrong, but maybe it will inspire his husband to let him go.

“You sweet thing,” Chanyeol whispers, reaching out with his free hand to thumb at Baekhyun’s mouth. Docile, Baekhyun allows it when Chanyeol lowers his jaw and guides his tongue to catch another falling tear. He allows it when Chanyeol gently pads at his lower eyelids, brushes through his eyelashes, presses against his tear ducts. He allows it when Chanyeol orders him to stop moving, and leans up to lick the teardrops from his face.

“Go on then,” he says gently, voice grumbly against Baekhyun’s mouth as he traces tear tracks with his nose. “Finish.”

Baekhyun waits until Chanyeol has lowered himself against the pillow and has placed his hands on his waist before he believes the order to be of an honest nature. “Oh,” is all he can say, hands trembling as they plant firmly against thumping pectorals. He mewls his husband’s name, bowing his head and trying not to lose himself to his tears as he starts fucking into the tight heat that girdles his cock. The way he gains speed is urgent, almost assertive, and he jackhammers into Chanyeol’s ass without sparing a thought that it might be hurting him.

Paradise gets closer. He thinks he reaches for it, eyes closing in favour of floating, when he feels anchors on his arms. A voice, quiet and silvery, implores him to stay.

He comes with a great sob, hips jerking back and forth sporadically and out of his control as Chanyeol clenches his ass very much on purpose. Nevertheless, there is no time for milking, for tears of relief, to enjoy his time in the clouds riding out the quaking high he’s needed all day, as his cock is suddenly cold and he’s being manhandled by what would be fists if his bones weren’t caught in the palms. He gags, tasting salt in his mouth, clamping his lips down instinctually before he really realises what’s going on.

Twice, he scratches pointedly at Chanyeol’s hip to let him know he needs to breathe. The darkness retreats each time Chanyeol concurs, taking another step back into the recesses of his mind to remain unseen.

Despite the bravado and Baekhyun’s oozing desire for Chanyeol to come down his throat and leave him without a voice in the morning, his husband pulls him away and releases neatly into his hand, brow harsh and teeth bared. Pleasure masks itself on Chanyeol. He always looks irritated or in disbelief. It makes for interesting situations when Chanyeol is genuinely annoyed at him and Baekhyun can’t help but get hard.

Baekhyun sags, wiping his mouth clean on his baby blue blanket before nuzzling his face into it again. Tears darken the fleece as always, and just before it starts to get too quiet, Chanyeol is guiding him up to lie back properly against the bed, head on a pillow, while humming praises that make his heart sing. He did well, he realises, and his chest swells. This is where he can do no wrong. This is where he will never disappoint. Here, he is safe.

He remembers guzzling down water before falling asleep, a small power nap that proves to take more energy than it provides. He only remembers then that he hasn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours, and for the first time feels his stomach ache from the emptiness not even sex can sate. But there is Chanyeol, leaning down over him with a dreamy look in his eyes, and he wonders how he could ever hunger for anything else. He kisses Chanyeol’s nose, mouth, and revels in the chuckle that follows, smiling from ear to ear in a way he knows squeezes his eyes.

It remains quiet. Chanyeol wraps him up in his blanket, then his arms, and Baekhyun simply lies there in his embrace, doing his best to force back another round of tears as his thoughts come hurling back towards him. A shaky sigh parts his lips, so Chanyeol pulls back one of his hands to start dabbing at his waterlines again. Baekhyun can only close his eyes, enjoying the warmth of Chanyeol’s thumbs as they chase away the marks of his stress. His own hands circle around Chanyeol’s waist and up over the back of his shoulder blades. His neck is where he’s warmest, where Baekhyun can blindly follow veins and muscles without thinking. When he opens his eyes and squints through Chanyeol combing his eyelashes, Baekhyun focuses on the line he found above Chanyeol’s brow the other night. He catches himself smiling, tears out like the tide, and cups his hand to Chanyeol’s cheek to reel him in.

With lips that taste like salt, Chanyeol kisses him back into the pillow, dropping a hand to his hip before sliding it under a thigh. Baekhyun moans, arching into Chanyeol’s touch in a way that causes the blanket to fall from his shoulders. If it weren’t for Chanyeol, he’d go cold. Their eyes say everything when they stop, and Baekhyun drops a hand from Chanyeol’s cheek to his hip, grazing his nipples as he goes.

“I think you should make dinner like a good husband,” Baekhyun teases lightly, blushing a little at the hearty laugh which chases his (almost, but not totally) empty demand.

“What would you like?” Chanyeol asks, hot and sweaty when he buries his face in Baekhyun’s neck. The very tip of his nose, however, is almost freezing. Baekhyun tries to twist away, but in Chanyeol’s arms he is securely locked.

He hums at the question, straightening out on his back and stretching his arms high, legs low. Chanyeol continues to kiss his neck, biting every so often, probably to keep him from dozing off.  “Just…” Baekhyun murmurs thoughtfully, settling on a vague and sleepy-sounding, “anything.”

Chanyeol retreats to chuckle, tucking Baekhyun’s black hair behind his ear and kissing the mark on his temple, tongue lapping once. “Alright. Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun’s smile feels endless. “Yeah, I am. Just hungry.”

A palm edges over his stomach at that, and Chanyeol delves forwards for a kiss. Even after a million and one kisses, Baekhyun still gets butterflies in his stomach sometimes. He breaks it a moment later, only to mouth at Chanyeol’s wedding band sitting snuggly around his ring finger.

“Anything you didn’t like?” is breathed against his lips, so softly that Baekhyun almost doesn’t catch it. If he weren’t so fine-tuned into everything his husband does, he might have missed it completely. He caresses Chanyeol’s palm and fingers, touch feather-light. His skin here has always been coarse, but at least it smells of roses. Baekhyun persistently buys him hand cream every other month and opts to make a big deal of it.

“My day at work,” he mumbles as he encloses his arms more soundly around Chanyeol’s frame, capturing him and keeping him there, flush against his side until he’s fuzzy and warm and content. Chanyeol’s own hands against him send goosebumps flying as he thinks back to the scene, muscle memory leading him to tremble. Even if his mind is never completely present, his body always remembers everything down to the last detail. Being spread out so thinly for Chanyeol’s pleasure is everything he could ever yearn for. It makes him feel good to make Chanyeol feel good, even when Chanyeol likes to keep him from what he thinks he wants. “You’re a total tease, though. You know that, right?”

Chanyeol cracks a smile, nosing across his tear-stricken cheek. Baekhyun feels Chanyeol’s breath rushing over his skin, the sensation akin to lightning. “I know,” he answers, not sounding the least bit sorry. “And I also know you like it. Don’t you?”

Baekhyun answers with a candid, “Yes.”

His husband seems satisfied with that, running his lips along Baekhyun’s collarbones. “Anything you liked in particular?”

Baekhyun smiles sheepishly, dropping his eyes a little to watch where his fingertip joins the moles on Chanyeol’s nose and his chest, following them all the way past his shoulder and down his arm until their hands are entwined again. “You know what I like the best,” he maintains, closing his eyes at the kiss on his forehead. It’s faint, sincere, leaves his heart throbbing with everything he feels. It’s overbearing, so he focuses on throwing a leg over Chanyeol’s hip and trying to use his body as a blanket.

With a hum, Chanyeol attracts his lips once more. “I’m here if you need help with anything,” he then says, mirroring Baekhyun’s intentions and using Baekhyun’s head as a pillow. It’s only slightly uncomfortable, but his husband is too adorable to push away. Baekhyun has always had a hard time denying him anything.

“Thank you,” he replies, voice thick, short. The promise of new tears seduces his lover once more into meeting his gaze, and Baekhyun can only smile lovingly up at him. He would cry rivers for this man, flood cities, drown mountains, so long as he always looks at him like that. Like it’s the first time all over again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Please note that I do not want constructive criticism. Please do not share negative opinions or thoughts about this story in the comments, in bookmarks or on Twitter. Thank you :)**


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